


Killer Croc's New Psychiatrist

by Bookwyrm83



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 14:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12985584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookwyrm83/pseuds/Bookwyrm83
Summary: After being sent back to Arkham Asylum for taking part in a foiled terror plot with Calendar Man, a new doctor is assigned to Killer Croc to perform his psychiatric evaluation.  He doesn't want to participate.





	Killer Croc's New Psychiatrist

**Author's Note:**

> This could feasibly take place in any Batman continuity but I am not following any story arc in particular. This is just intended to be a fun "what if" scenario.

"Goddamn it," muttered Aaron Cash, as he and three other guards escorted Killer Croc from his cell to his session.  
  
He held a shotgun in his right hand with the hook on his left carefully poised by the trigger. Every day he woke and was reminded of what Croc had done to him. And almost every time he saw Croc, the bastard would start making "tick-tock" noises and calling him Captain Hook. Cash never hated Peter Pan until after he had his hand bitten off. He only regretted that his son now felt obligated to hate the story, even though by all rights he should be able to enjoy it. But that was one of the many problems with working with monsters and maniacs, they always found some way to pervert your viewpoints.  
  
Croc shuffled his feet the whole way and frequently stopped. Whenever a guard told him to keep moving, he would stand rigidly, a ferocious nightmare with the attitude of a stubborn ten year old. If it were anyone else, a casual prod with a gun butt or nightstick would keep them going but nobody dared try that on Croc. Not unless he was pumped to the gills with Thorazine, and even that wasn't guaranteed to work. And since it took a dozen heavily armed SWAT members to bring him down during the raid on his lair (four of them ending up hospitalized), they didn't want to risk a repeat of that event.  
  
They finally approached a modestly sized office with no windows except for one in the door. The doctor waiting for them was an attractive young woman with brown hair and glasses that emphasized beauty and intelligence. _Great_ , thought Cash. He didn't know her but already he saw she was a walking target. Most of the security and staff at Arkham Asylum were targets in the eyes of the inmates, but the more they could objectify their prey, the more ruthless their plans for execution. For a moment he was grateful it was Croc he was leading in and not someone arguably worse, like Zsasz. He had to suppress a shudder but it didn't escape Croc's notice.  
  
"What's the matter, Cash?" he snarled. "She not pretty enough for you?"  
  
"Shut up, asshole," said Cash. "Sit down and don't do nothing funny. Remember, I got no qualms blowing your head off. And keep your hands where I can see them."  
  
"Not difficult, they're behind my back," sneered Croc. "But I promise not sit on them, how about that?" He sat down and gave Cash the finger with both hands. Cash himself moved to a corner, gun poised, while the other guards left the room and closed the door behind them.  
  
"I think we should all relax, gentlemen," said the doctor as she turned on a recorder. "I haven't even been properly introduced and the last thing we need is for the patient to be antagonized further. Hello," she said to Croc. "My name is Dr. Lorraine Leder."  
  
"Waylon Jones," said Croc. "And if I may be blunt, I don't give a fuck who are you are. You have my file, you should know who I am. You should know what I've done. As far as I'm concerned, this little session is just an excuse to take a walk and stretch my legs."  
  
"I've been told you aren't very cooperative in your sessions," said Leder. "Perhaps in time that might change. I have read your file and know enough about your history, and your condition, that I will refrain from asking. Maybe instead we'll discuss your most recent escapade that brought you back to Arkham."  
  
"For my 'psychiatric evaluation', I suppose," said Croc. "So I don't get the chair? Instead, I get to spend the rest of my life rotting in this godforsaken institution? Spare yourself the effort. It's obvious I'm insane."  
  
"A man who considers himself to be insane and is self-aware of the fact is more likely to be perfectly sane," she said.  
  
"How original," he growled in response. "Then how about the fact I'm a certified sociopath and cannibal? Maybe I might be lucid now, but pretty soon my condition is going to swing me into an animalistic rage I can't control. Nor do I want to."  
  
"If that's the case," said Cash. "I'll be glad to help pacify you."  
  
"Keep talking, Cash," said Croc, with an edge to his voice. "Your pop gun won't do you any good. All it'll do is piss me off."  
  
"Where have I heard that before?" said Cash, with his hook slowly moving into position.  
  
"There's no need for that, guard Cash," said Leder. "Perhaps you might prefer to wait outside."  
  
"And leave this monster alone with you? Hell no," he said.  
  
"Then please behave yourself," said Leder, turning to face Croc. He was an impressive specimen.  
  
She'd heard stories that he was over nine feet tall, had a snout and tail, and was covered in scales and spikes. So she was surprised to find that he was just over seven and a half feet tall and while indeed scaly, had a human face and no extra appendages. He was built like a tank and she noted his fingers were more like claws, but the monster he had been built up to be was quite exaggerated. There was no arguing with those teeth, though. She wasn't sure if they were filed or if they just grew that way. It wasn't difficult to trace where the stories had come from.  
  
"So," Croc intoned. "What exactly did you want to know? The gory details? How I got involved? Where I shat the corpses?"  
  
"According to reports," said Leder, unfazed, "You were hired by Julian Day to be muscle for a black market arms deal, along with two other hired thugs. Things went south and none of the dealers made it out alive, not to mention one of your own guys."  
  
"Funny how that works," said Croc. "And incidentally, I was equal partner. I didn't learn the other guys' names, still don't give a crap. The mook who died was careless, didn't take cover. Last I heard, the other one's in Blackgate. Gathered in of the SWAT raids that also got me scooped up."  
  
"Yes," she said. "I assume you know how you were found."  
  
"Yeah, the satchels of money, all of them bugged," he grunted. "I should have figured, might have noticed if they weren't so carefully sewn in the fabric. Yeah, I know that detail. Got passed onto me during my arrest. Not sure why Calendar Man bugged them, maybe as a contingency. That asshole should have remembered after he welshed on the deal. I'll have to ask him one day, 'cause if he was trying to stab my back as well..."  
  
The hiss that came out of his mouth belonged to a primal creature waiting to strike rather than a man in braces. Croc had been thinking about this and the more it lingered, the more likely it became. His fists clenched and Cash waited, hoping he wouldn't try to snap the chain.  
  
"In the end, some jerk made the connection, probably the Bat freak. Doesn't matter. All I know is all the nice stuff I bought for my lair is in an evidence locker someplace."  
  
"Stuff you bought from the black market," said Cash. "No big loss for you."  
  
"Screw you, I got a good price for 'em," Croc retorted. "As I'm sure you'll happily agree, Cash, it's not like I can just stroll into a Walmart and get service with a smile. Even they have limits to their freaks. Though I'm sure you qualify."  
  
"Shut up!" yelled Cash.  
  
"Okay, stop, both of you!" said Leder, as if addressing a pair of children. "Guard Cash, I will ask you to either please wait outside or refrain from speaking until this session is concluded. If Mr. Jones addresses you, ignore him. He's here to speak with me and me alone. Do you both understand?"  
  
"I understand fine," he said.  
  
"Go fuck yourself," said Croc, giggling at the heavy intake of breath from Cash.  
  
"You'll find that won't work on me," said Leder. "Now, back to your case."  
  
"You smell nervous, doc," said Croc, now salivating. "Not like Cash, who smells like fear and rage. Like seasoning on a chicken dinner. No, you smell...excited. Like a banana split. You're enjoying this, aren't you?"  
  
"Enjoyment is not the word I'd use," she said flatly. "Intrigued, maybe. In the gory details, as you said. What exactly did you do and how exactly did the deal go down? In your words."  
  
"Huh, as you wish," he said. "As you may or may not know, Calendar Man, or Day if you want to call him that, is out of his goddamn mind. We all are but he was planning a mass-shooting and several bombings on New Year's Eve, right as soon as the countdown reached one. Wanted to usher in the next year with a bang. He always does. You wanna talk money or weapons with him, he'll get to the point. Otherwise, you need to be fluent in batshit crazy."  
  
"And yet," said Leder. "You had no problems helping him with a shipment of, let's see, a crate full of M16 assault rifles and several crates of C-4, along with assorted bomb-building equipment."  
  
"What he does with those was no business of mine," said Croc. "We agreed he didn't try to use any of those weapons on me, I wouldn't tear his guts out in return. As for the details of his plans, well you'll have to ask him. Or the Bat." The last word dripped with venom.  
  
"I think many in Gotham would say that Batman did a great thing by stopping a terrorist," she said. "And he wasn't personally involved in your arrest."  
  
"This time he wasn't," grumbled Croc. "But he's got me a few times. He took down Day, and like I said, he probably helped with info for the sting op. One of these days, I'm gonna repay the favor by biting his head off." He bared his teeth and his eyes gleamed a wicked green.  
  
"Speaking of biting off heads," said Leder. "One of the arms dealers was found by the Gotham river with no hands or head, and with his torso barely intact. The police had to identify him by DNA and were fortunate to have a match. Was that your handiwork?"  
  
Croc turned and looked evilly at Cash. "Your favorite word," he said, cackling.  
  
Cash said nothing and stared straight ahead. He wouldn't let himself be baited. _Damn it_ , he thought. _Glad I didn't say that out loud._  
  
"To answer your question," Croc continued, "That's a definite yes. Calendar Man gave the signal and I locked the doors. Big warehouse, so plenty of space to duck. All I know next is one of the goons had his head blown off and the other was firing from behind his car like an idiot. These guys had the element of surprise but they were amateurs. Five guys against four, then three, but I'm an army of one.  
  
"Managed to sneak up and use one as shield, throwing him against his pal before any of the bullets could do any real hurt. That was enough to get the other three looking at me, and two were down now that they were off guard. Have to hand it to Calendar Man, he's a good shot. As for the lead dealer, that schmuck ran out of bullets. He was dead before he hit the ground. I ate him and the idiot I knocked over, left the corpses in the sewer where they got washed out later. Day put the rest of them in their van and blew it to hell. 'To test the equipment', he said."  
  
Croc waited as Leder took down notes. He could smell her excitement. She wanted this, where most other docs would react with disgust or poorly concealed discomfort. He wondered what her credentials were, and why she was so interested in the arms deal. Most docs wanted to start with his abusive aunt or his atavism, saving the crimes for when they seemed more pertinent. At least she wasn't wasting his time with fluff questions.  
  
"Will that be all for today?" asked Croc. "You'll have to excuse me but I'm getting bored. And hungry. Not a good combination for you."  
  
"I do have one more query," said Leder, strangely turning the recorder off. "Is your skin really bullet proof?"  
  
"Depends on the caliber and distance," he said. "Why? Do you find it so difficult to believe I survived a fire fight with no other armor? They were shooting nines, little handguns that would take a lot to bring me down. I was a bit disappointed, actually. Mean-ass gangsters from Blüdhaven, you'd think they'd be armed with something a bit more powerful than that."  
  
"Like this?" asked Leder, producing a 45 ACP with a silencer from under the desk. She immediately pointed it at Cash. "Drop the gun, please. I might yet let you live."  
  
"What the Christ?" shouted Cash. He began to swing his gun toward her but saw the look in her eyes. He lowered it slowly and put it on the floor. "Just who the hell are you, lady?"  
  
"As far as you are concerned," she said, flicking the barrel back towards Croc. "I am a psychiatrist defending herself from a violent patient. Off the record, I'm here on behalf of a business partner to settle an account. Don't worry about the CCTV, I've already unplugged the camera."  
  
"And what about the guards waiting outside?" asked Cash.  
  
"Paid off to go about their duties elsewhere," she said calmly. "You're not the only one who hates this beast. You should have left the room when I asked you. Still, you might just get your wish to see this animal's brains on the wall."  
  
"Should have known," said Croc. "I knew you smelled funny, bitch. Let me guess. You wanted me to confess I did it so you could have proof before you gather your check?"  
  
"Pretty much," said Leder. "I don't really need the confession, it was just a formality. Nobody else but you has such an M.O."  
  
"Well, what are you waitin' for?" said Croc, standing to his full height. "You wanna kill me? Go ahead. I'm already dead inside. You should be glad I'm shackled behind my back."  
  
"It does make the job easier, yes," she said, standing in reply and cocking back the safety. She pointed the gun right between his eyes. A flash of metal swung before her and the gun was knocked out of her hand. Cash had snuck around and had moved so fast and silent she barely registered his presence until the hook had slashed across her wrist.  
  
"Son of a whore!" she screamed, the gun bouncing onto the desk discharging a bullet into one of the walls. Croc crouched down, not wanting to risk the possibility of being hit by a stray shot. Leder and Cash were pummeling each other, or rather she was kicking and punching like a kung fu assassin and he was deflecting with his hook and trying to land a good punch with his fist.  
  
She stunned him with a kick to the face and turned for the gun. What she saw was the barrel of her silencer only a centimetre from her left eye. Croc had broken the chain from his shackles and now both cuffs hung on his arms like bracelets. The gleam in his eye now shone brighter than before and she was amazed that he didn't simply crush the gun by holding it in his hand.  
  
"Cash," he said. "You might want to get out of the way."  
  
Cash rolled over and heard a muffled _thunk_. He looked up and saw the wall painted with scarlet, among other textures. The woman who called herself Leder was on the ground, a halo of blood slowly pooling around her. He tried not to retch at the the still smoking eye-socket where Croc had shot her point blank.  
  
Croc himself was wiping the blood off his chest and sucking at his fingers. He looked at Cash and smiled his reptilian grin.  
  
"Like I said, banana split!" he chortled, tossing the gun towards Cash and returning to his seat.  
  
It was later found out that the real Lorraine Leder had been tranquilized and left in the trunk of her car. It was her first day at Arkham Asylum and quickly became her last. She hadn't moved all the way from Metropolis for this to happen. The woman who had taken her place was Sylvia Wallace, an expert hacker, forger and hired killer in the Blüdhaven underground. Internal investigations discovered that she had paid off all the guards in transporting Killer Croc to the session except for Aaron Cash, likely because of his reputation to be incorruptible. Nobody would know for sure.  
  
The men who were paid off were later fired and Cash was commended. Although he was loathe to support Croc in any capacity, he informed the board of inquiry that Croc had been acting in self defense when he killed Wallace. He decided to leave out the part where he had to threaten Croc with the shotgun to keep him from licking the brains off the wall. That hadn't been appreciated at the time but considering no further convictions were added to his sentence, Croc was secretly glad he had been deterred. He would never admit it, of course.  
  
The next time Croc had a therapy session (after the psychiatrist had been comprehensively vetted), Cash escorted him with his gun poised in a more relaxed stance. It was agreed another man stand guard inside. He looked at Croc who turned to meet his gaze.  
  
"Behave yourself," said Cash. Croc stared back and smiled.  
  
"Kiss my sweet ass," he said, laughing that despicable laugh.  
  
_Close enough_ , thought Cash.


End file.
